George Crabbe

Tale IV

PROCRASTINATION.

Love will expire--the gay, the happy dreamWill turn to scorn, indiff'rence, or esteem:Some favour'd pairs, in this exchange, are blest,Nor sigh for raptures in a state of rest;Others, ill match'd, with minds unpair'd, repentAt once the deed, and know no more content;From joy to anguish they, in haste, decline,And, with their fondness, their esteem resign;More luckless still their fate, who are the preyOf long-protracted hope and dull delay:'Mid plans of bliss the heavy hours pass on,Till love is withered, and till joy is gone.This gentle flame two youthful hearts possess'd,The sweet disturber of unenvied rest;The prudent Dinah was the maid beloved,And the kind Rupert was the swain approved:A wealthy Aunt her gentle niece sustain'd,He, with a father, at his desk remain'd;The youthful couple, to their vows sincere,Thus loved expectant; year succeeding year,With pleasant views and hopes, but not a prospect

near.Rupert some comfort in his station saw,But the poor virgin lived in dread and awe;Upon her anxious looks the widow smiled,And bade her wait, 'for she was yet a child.'She for her neighbour had a due respect,Nor would his son encourage or reject;And thus the pair, with expectation vain,Beheld the seasons change and change again;Meantime the nymph her tender tales perused,Where cruel aunts impatient girls refused:While hers, though teasing, boasted to be kind,And she, resenting, to be all resign'd.The dame was sick, and when the youth appliedFor her consent, she groan'd, and cough'd, and

cried,Talk'd of departing, and again her breathDrew hard, and cough'd, and talk'd again of death:'Here may you live, my Dinah! here the boyAnd you together my estate enjoy:'Thus to the lovers was her mind expressed,Till they forbore to urge the fond request.Servant, and nurse, and comforter, and friend,Dinah had still some duty to attend;But yet their walk, when Rupert's evening callObtain'd an hour, made sweet amends for all;So long they now each other's thoughts had known,That nothing seem'd exclusively their own:But with the common wish, the mutual fear,They now had travelled to their thirtieth year.At length a prospect open'd--but alas!Long time must yet, before the union, pass.Rupert was call'd, in other clime, t'increaseAnother's wealth, and toil for future peace.Loth were the lovers; but the aunt declared'Twas fortune's call, and they must be prepar'd:'You now are young, and for this brief delay,And Dinah's care, what I bequeath will pay;All will be yours; nay, love, suppress that sigh;The kind must suffer, and the best must die:'Then came the cough, and strong the signs it gaveOf holding long contention with the grave.The lovers parted with a gloomy view,And little comfort, but that both were true;He for uncertain duties doom'd to steer,While hers remain'd too certain and severe.Letters arrived, and Rupert fairly told'His cares were many, and his hopes were cold:The view more clouded, that was never fair,And love alone preserved him from despair;'In other letters brighter hopes he drew,'His friends were kind, and he believed them true.'When the sage widow Dinah's grief descried,She wonder'd much why one so happy sigh'd:Then bade her see how her poor aunt sustain'dThe ills of life, nor murmur'd nor complain'd.To vary pleasures, from the lady's chestWere drawn the pearly string and tabby vest;Beads, jewels, laces, all their value shown,With the kind notice--'They will be your own.'This hope, these comforts, cherish'd day by day,To Dinah's bosom made a gradual way;Till love of treasure had as large a part,As love of Rupert, in the virgin's heart.Whether it be that tender passions fail,From their own nature, while the strong prevail;Or whether av'rice, like the poison-tree,Kills all beside it, and alone will be;Whatever cause prevail'd, the pleasure grewIn Dinah's soul,--she loved the hoards to view;With lively joy those comforts she survey'd,And love grew languid in the careful maid.Now the grave niece partook the widow's cares,Look'd to the great, and ruled the small affairs;Saw clean'd the plate, arranged the china-show,And felt her passion for a shilling grow:Th' indulgent aunt increased the maid's delight,By placing tokens of her wealth in sight;She loved the value of her bonds to tell,And spake of stocks, and how they rose and fell.This passion grew, and gain'd at length such

sway,That other passions shrank to make it way;Romantic notions now the heart forsook,She read but seldom, and she changed her book;And for the verses she was wont to send,Short was her prose, and she was Rupert's friend.Seldom she wrote, and then the widow's cough,And constant call, excused her breaking off;Who now oppressed, no longer took the air,But sat and dozed upon an easy chair.The cautious doctor saw the case was clear,But judged it best to have companions near;They came, they reason'd, they prescribed,--at

last,Like honest men, they said their hopes were past;Then came a priest--'tis comfort to reflectWhen all is over, there was no neglect:And all was over.--By her husband's bones,The widow rests beneath the sculptured stones,That yet record their fondness and their fame,While all they left the virgin's care became;Stock, bonds, and buildings; it disturb'd her rest,To think what load of troubles she possessed:Yet, if a trouble, she resolved to takeTh' important duty for the donor's sake;She too was heiress to the widow's taste,Her love of hoarding, and her dread of waste.Sometimes the past would on her mind intrude,And then a conflict full of care ensued;The thoughts of Rupert on her mind would press,His worth she knew, but doubted his success:Of old she saw him heedless; what the boyForebore to save, the man would not enjoy;Oft had he lost the chance that care would seize,Willing to live, but more to live at ease:Yet could she not a broken vow defend,And Heav'n, perhaps, might yet enrich her friend.Month after month was pass'd, and all were spentIn quiet comfort, and in rich content;Miseries there were, and woes the world around,But these had not her pleasant dwelling found;She knew that mothers grieved, and widows wept,And she was sorry, said her prayers, and slept:Thus passed the seasons, and to Dinah's boardGave what the seasons to the rich afford;For she indulged, nor was her heart so small,That one strong passion should engross it all.A love of splendour now with av'rice strove,And oft appeared to be the stronger love:A secret pleasure fill'd the Widow's breast,When she reflected on the hoards possess'd;But livelier joy inspired th' ambitious Maid,When she the purchase of those hoards display'd:In small but splendid room she loved to seeThat all was placed in view and harmony.There, as with eager glance she look'd around,She much delight in every object found.While books devout were near her--to destroy,Should it arise, an overflow of joy.Within that fair apartment guests might seeThe comforts cull'd for wealth by vanity:Around the room an Indian paper blazed,With lively tint and figures boldly raised;Silky and soft upon the floor below,Th' elastic carpet rose with crimson glow;All things around implied both cost and care,What met the eye was elegant or rare:Some curious trifles round the room were laid,By hope presented to the wealthy Maid;Within a costly case of varnish'd wood,In level rows, her polish'd volumes stood;Shown as a favour to a chosen few,To prove what beauty for a book could do:A silver urn with curious work was fraught;A silver lamp from Grecian pattern wrought:Above her head, all gorgeous to behold,A time-piece stood on feet of burnish'd gold;A stag's-head crest adorn'd the pictured case,Through the pure crystal shone the enamel'd face;And while on brilliants moved the hands of steel,It click'd from pray'r to pray'r, from meal to

meal.Here as the lady sat, a friendly pairStept in t'admire the view, and took their chair:They then related how the young and gayWere thoughtless wandering in the broad highway:How tender damsels sail'd in tilted boats,And laugh'd with wicked men in scarlet coats;And how we live in such degen'rate times,That men conceal their wants and show their crimes;While vicious deeds are screen'd by fashion's name,And what was once our pride is now our shame.Dinah was musing, as her friends discoursed,When these last words a sudden entrance forcedUpon her mind, and what was once her prideAnd now her shame, some painful views supplied;Thoughts of the past within her bosom press'd,And there a change was felt, and was confess'd:While thus the Virgin strove with secret pain,Her mind was wandering o'er the troubled main;Still she was silent, nothing seem'd to see,But sat and sigh'd in pensive reverie.The friends prepared new subjects to begin,When tall Susannah, maiden starch, stalk'd in;Not in her ancient mode, sedate and slow,As when she came, the mind she knew, to know;Nor as, when list'ning half an hour before,She twice or thrice tapp'd gently at the door;But all decorum cast in wrath aside,'I think the devil's in the man!' she cried;'A huge tall sailor, with his tawny cheekAnd pitted face, will with my lady speak;He grinn'd an ugly smile, and said he knew,Please you, my lady, 't would be joy to you:What must I answer?'--Trembling and distress'dSank the pale Dinah by her fears oppress'd;When thus alarm'd and brooking no delay,Swift to her room the stranger made his way.'Revive, my love!' said he, 'I've done thee

harm;Give me thy pardon,' and he look'd alarm:Meantime the prudent Dinah had contrivedHer soul to question, and she then revived.'See! my good friend,' and then she raised her

head,'The bloom of life, the strength of youth is fled;Living we die; to us the world is dead;We parted bless'd with health, and I am nowAge-struck and feeble--so I find art thou;Thine eye is sunken, furrow'd is thy face,And downward look'st thou--so we run our race;And happier they whose race is nearly run,Their troubles over, and their duties done.''True, lady, true--we are not girl and boy,But time has left us something to enjoy.''What! hast thou learn'd my fortune?--yes, I liveTo feel how poor the comforts wealth can give:Thou too perhaps art wealthy; but our fateStill mocks our wishes, wealth is come too late.''To me nor late nor early; I am comePoor as I left thee to my native home:Nor yet,' said Rupert, 'will I grieve; 'tis mineTo share thy comforts, and the glory thine:For thou wilt gladly take that generous partThat both exalts and gratifies the heart;While mine rejoices'--'Heavens!' return'd the maid,'This talk to one so wither'd and decay'd?No! all my care is now to fit my mindFor other spousal, and to die resigned:As friend and neighbour, I shall hope to seeThese noble views, this pious love in thee;That we together may the change await,Guides and spectators in each other's fate;When fellow pilgrims, we shall daily craveThe mutual prayer that arms us for the grave.'Half angry, half in doubt, the lover gazedOn the meek maiden, by her speech amazed;'Dinah,' said he, 'dost thou respect thy vows?What spousal mean'st thou?--thou art Rupert's

spouse;That chance is mine to take, and thine to give:But, trifling this, if we together live:Can I believe, that, after all the past,Our vows, our loves, thou wilt be false at last?Something thou hast--I know not what--in view;I find thee pious--let me find thee true.''Ah! cruel this; but do, my friend, depart;And to its feelings leave my wounded heart.''Nay, speak at once; and Dinah, let me know,Mean'st thou to take me, now I'm wreck'd, in tow?Be fair; nor longer keep me in the dark;Am I forsaken for a trimmer spark?Heaven's spouse thou art not; nor can I believeThat God accepts her who will man deceive:True I am shatter'd, I have service seen,And service done, and have in trouble been;My cheek (it shames me not) has lost its red,And the brown buff is o'er my features spread:Perchance my speech is rude; for I amongTh' untamed have been, in temper and in tongue;Have been trepann'd, have lived in toil and care,And wrought for wealth I was not doom'd to share;It touch'd me deeply, for I felt a prideIn gaining riches for my destin'd bride:Speak then my fate; for these my sorrows past,Time lost, youth fled, hope wearied, and at lastThis doubt of thee--a childish thing to tell,But certain truth--my very throat they swell:They stop the breath, and but for shame could IGive way to weakness, and with passion cry;These are unmanly struggles, but I feelThis hour must end them, and perhaps will heal.'Here Dinah sigh'd, as if afraid to speak -And then repeated--'They were frail and weak:His soul she lov'd, and hoped he had the graceTo fix his thoughts upon a better place.'She ceased;--with steady glance, as if to seeThe very root of this hypocrisy, -He her small fingers moulded in his hardAnd bronzed broad hand; then told her his regard,His best respect were gone, but love had stillHold in his heart, and govern'd yet the will -Or he would curse her: --saying this, he threwThe hand in scorn away, and bade adieuTo every lingering hope, with every care in view.Proud and indignant, suffering, sick, and poor,He grieved unseen: and spoke of love no more -Till all he felt in indignation died,As hers had sunk in avarice and pride.In health declining, as in mind distressed,To some in power his troubles he confess'd,And shares a parish-gift; at prayers he seesThe pious Dinah dropp'd upon her knees;Thence as she walks the street with stately airAs chance directs, oft meet the parted pair;When he, with thickset coat of badgeman's blue,Moves near her shaded silk of changeful hue;When his thin locks of gray approach her braid,A costly purchase made in Beauty's aid;When his frank air, and his unstudied pace,Are seen with her soft manner, air, and grace;And his plain artless look with her sharp meaning

face;It might some wonder in a stranger move,How these together could have talk'd of love.Behold them now!--see there a tradesman stands,And humbly hearkens to some fresh commands;He moves to speak, she interrupts him--'Stay,'Her air expresses,--'Hark to what I say!'Ten paces off, poor Rupert on a seatHas taken refuge from the noon-day heat,His eyes on her intent, as if to findWhat were the movements of that subtle mind:How still!--how earnest is he!--it appearsHis thoughts are wand'ring through his earlier

years;Through years of fruitless labour, to the dayWhen all his earthly prospects died away:'Had I,' he thinks, 'been wealthier of the two,Would she have found me so unkind, untrue?Or knows not man when poor, what man when rich will

do?Yes, yes! I feel that I had faithful proved,And should have soothed and raised her, bless'd and

loved.'But Dinah moves--she had observed beforeThe pensive Rupert at an humble door:Some thoughts of pity raised by his distress,Some feeling touch of ancient tenderness;Religion, duty urged the maid to speak,In terms of kindness to a man so weak:But pride forbade, and to return would proveShe felt the shame of his neglected love;Nor wrapp'd in silence could she pass, afraidEach eye should see her, and each heart upbraid;One way remain'd--the way the Levite took,Who without mercy could on misery look;(A way perceiv'd by craft, approved by pride),She cross'd and pass'd him on the other side.